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“You looked pissed. Actually… not pissed. Just sad.”
I don’t look up from my sandwich. “Not sad.”
This is why Ellie has annoyed me since my parents brought her into the world. You can swear up and down that things aren’t the way she sees them, but once she gets a notion in her head, she won’t ever let it go until she gets her validation.
“Yeah, you are.” She sits down next to me—though I wish she’d go back in front of the television and leave me alone—and cranes her neck low to look into my eyes. “What is it? That lawyer chick? Tenley Bayliss?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you do. Don’t give me that. I could tell the moment you got on me for accepting her charity that you loved her.”
My eyes meet hers. “What?”
“Otherwise, why protect her? You have a big ol’ crush on her, don’t you?”
I glare. “I don’t know about you, but I graduated from the third grade twenty years ago. I don’t care about Tenley Bayliss. I just don’t want my dumbass sister to end up in jail for fraud.”
She crosses her arms, playing with the pendant on her neck as she studies me. “Well, that’s good. She’s totally wrong for you, anyway.”
I was about done with this conversation ten minutes before it started. I shove the rest of the sandwich into my mouth and say, mouth full, “Doesn’t matter.”
Although it kind of does.
We sit in silence as I chew.
By the time I swallow, my mild interest in her statement has inflated to a full-blown itch. Peanut butter sticks in my throat as I say, “Out of curiosity, why do you say that?”
She smiles, triumphant in the fact that she’s succeeded in getting under my skin. “Because Tenley is a nice person. She deserves a nice, boring guy who does nice, boring things, and doesn’t turn everything into an argument.”
I wipe at my mouth. “I don’t turn everything into an argument.”
She laughs. “Yeah, you do.”
My voice rises. “No, I—"
Shit.
Forget it. “You done?”
“No. She also is way too pretty for your goofy-looking ass,” she says, standing up and heading upstairs. “Now, I’m done.”
I give her a middle finger she can’t see, toss my trash away, and climb the stairs, wondering if Tenley is still online. Maybe she is. Maybe she’s now on BLIND LOVE, seeking out a new love match.
A nice, boring guy who will treat her well. Who will have the honor of touching her, kissing her, making her smile.
The thought makes jealousy simmer in my veins.
Nope, no, can’t think of that. Why should I be jealous over her? I’ve never even dated Tenley Bayliss. She’s no one to me. Right now, all she is to me is the person I should be beating out for an important promotion. That should be at the top of my mind.
Not what I can do to make her happy so that I can be the one to see her smile.
Who cares? I don’t care.
And yet when I climb up to bed and fall into it, all I can think about is our past conversations. How she used to call me on my bullshit, in real life as much as online. How she used to get that blush on her cheeks whenever I’d say something inappropriate, in the same way that she’d always pause much longer when I typed something inappropriate online. How every time I typed something to her and imagined the person behind the screen, I was imagining everything exactly right, because it was Tenley after all.
It's always been her.
We’re perfect for each other.
Almost.
If I had never worked at Foster & Foster to begin with, we would’ve been. It’s this fucking job that’s in the way. I’m sure of it.
Because if I close my eyes and imagine the perfect life, it’s not as partner at Foster & Foster.
No, it’s coming home to that fiery brunette who ignites every one of my senses, again and again. Who tells it like it is, who isn’t afraid of looking bad, who challenges me to be a better person. That’s everything I ever wanted.
Not a stupid promotion.
Her.
27
Of course sleep doesn’t come right away.
Or at all.
I should be worried about the case. We have more work to do to get ready for the trial, but our late-night pow-wow wound up being cut short, for obvious reasons. There was no way I could stay there any longer.
But instead of running possible strategies for the trial through my head, all I’m doing is replaying conversations with Brooks.
If you hate me so much, why did you check the app? Why did you reply to my message? Why are you on here right now, talking to me?
Because I don’t hate him, obviously.
No, not even close.
I open my eyes and stare at the moonlight, streaming through the blinds and painting prison bars on the ceiling of my apartment. The windows are open, letting in brisk night air, rustling the curtains. Propping my head up on the pillow, I imagine just what could’ve been, if I’d responded in the right way.
